


I Need Someone, You Were Someone

by NIXtheWADE



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, I'm so sorry apparently I'm dead inside, M/M, Suicide, this isn't happy at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-11 00:19:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7867579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NIXtheWADE/pseuds/NIXtheWADE
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean just wanted Castiel to stick to his promise. To give Jimmy back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Need Someone, You Were Someone

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, this is lightly edited and I just need to get it out of my writing folder before I once again forget that it exists. Which sounds like a great idea, considering how sad this made me.

Dean was slumped on the edge of the motel bed, arms resting on his legs, and he stared up at Castiel from beneath furrowed brows. Castiel frowned and took a step closer. He stopped abruptly when Dean threw a hand up, motioning for him to stay where he was. He had the beretta in hand, finger off the trigger, wrist limp against his leg.

"Dean," Castiel said, the word half greeting, half question.

"You promised," was all Dean said in response, his voice worn soft with the kind of fatigue you felt down to your bones.

"He is my vessel, Dean," the angel tried to explain. They'd been through this before. "There is work to be done that's important. You know that."

"You could find someone else." It wasn't the first time Dean had brought the suggestion up, but it was the first time he'd done so without an ounce of conviction. He knew how this argument was going to end. They both did.

"No one as suitable. Jimmy agreed to this."

"I don't care, Cas. I'm not going to ask again. Find someone else. Let Jimmy go."  _ Give him back _ , he did not add, but Castiel heard it anyway.

The gaze he fixed Castiel with was tired, so very tired. His shoulders were slumped, which wasn't how he normally held himself when he got in an argument. He should be wound tight, muscles tense, jaw twitching as he glared at Cas righteously, voice laden with certainty, not -- not this. Castiel wondered if this was a halfway step for Dean, how he looked before he finally accepted the truth of Castiel's words and the justness of his logic. If so then he should be feeling relief, not the curling dread that was starting to twist inside of his stomach.

"Not yet."

"Then when?"

"I don't know."

Dean responded to that with a laugh, a curt, cold sound that seemed to tear its way out of his throat. He finally lifted his chin, eyes still on Castiel, but if anything his gaze was even more vacant now. His hands twitched when he shrugged.

"I can't do this anymore, Cas."

"What do you mean?" Was he quitting the hunting life? That was impossible. Dean would never do that, could never do that. So was he going to pull out of the battle instead? Perhaps he intended to retreat back into the comfort of familiar hunts, abandoning Castiel to fight for heaven on his own? Betrayal, cold and bitter, lanced through him at the thought. "You said you would help."

"And you said you'd give him back. You promised."

"I can't, Dean," he snapped, once again finding himself losing his patience with this man. "You know this."

"Yeah." It was a whisper, perhaps meant more for himself than for Castiel to hear. "Yeah, I know."

And then Dean's eyes closed, as if for a blink, but hesitated for a second before rising again at the same time that he raised his right hand, pressing the barrel of the handgun against his temple. Castiel barely had the time to identify the ice-cold feeling that gripped his lungs and shook before he took a step forward, arm reaching out--

Dean's lips twitched, perhaps intending to smile, and then a crack ripped through the endless distance between them and Castiel froze in both space and time, eyes trapped in Dean's gaze before the kick snapped the human’s head to the side. Dean slumped sideways on the bed, the handgun falling out of his limp hand and landing on the motel carpet with a muted thump.

Castiel tried not to focus on the blood. Something, some _ one _ , inside of him was screaming, but he ignored that, too. He lowered his arm, negating another useless attempt at stopping the inevitable. This was yet another notch in an endless count of wasteful deaths, another wonder that collapsed into ruin as Castiel tried to fix things. But his mission was righteous and it must be carried through. Jimmy understood that. Despite the sour emotion that was wrapping itself like a vice around his vessel’s throat, he knew that he was right. So he ignored the growing red stain and kept his eyes trained on Dean's gaze, even though it wasn't directed at him anymore. Or at anything else, ever again.


End file.
